


Burning

by ChaiFighter



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, MFE pilots, My Desert Boyfriend Disappeared and I'm Hella Worried, Oh man how do I describe this, Update: Desert Boyfriend Sends Woefully Inadequate Letter from Space, basically it's canon through james' eyes crammed with as much j/k romance as i can fit in it, james REAL family aka the, james' childhood, james' family - Freeform, james: "he drives me up the fucking wall but i love him", keith: "he's a piece of shit", keith: "wow he's so terrible", keith: would cut a bitch if they looked at james funny, settle in folks this is gonna be a long one, we're 8k in and shiro just showed up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-06-28 18:25:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15712629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaiFighter/pseuds/ChaiFighter
Summary: James Griffin has always been a rule-follower. Keith Kogane takes the rulebook, sets it on fire, and drives over the ashes with a stolen vehicle. The two of them were seemingly made to fight–but as the years go by and they unwittingly grow close, fighting becomes the least of their worries. And when Keith and three other cadets vanish, leaving behind the suggestion of a vast, hostile universe, James must learn for himself the difference between following orders and doing what is right.





	1. Pinhole View

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to [cosmicbees](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicbees/pseuds/cosmicbees)! Go check her out, her title rec saved my life and her writing will save yours.

On the night Keith Kogane’s father died, ten-year-old James Griffin sat deep in thought, contemplating the benefits of running away from home. He didn’t do this because he thought he’d go through with it; even at age ten he knew he was too obedient to run. But he did have a surprisingly vivid imagination and a suffocating desire to be anywhere else, so here he was, considering the logistics of hopping a bus and skipping town. 

After a good long while feeling sorry for himself, there was a knock on the bedroom door. James didn’t answer it. After several seconds there was another knock.

“Hey, Jamie,” said the person outside the door, “can I come in?”

It took a moment for the speaker’s identity to sink in. Then James leapt off his bed and yanked the door open.

“Eli?”

James’ older brother cracked a tired smile and waved awkwardly. “Hey, kiddo–oof!”

“You’re back,” said James into Eli’s sweatshirt. “How long are you back?”

Eli carefully extricated himself from the hug and held James away by the shoulders. “Just the weekend.” James’ face fell, and Eli quickly added, “But I came here with the hoverbike. You know what that means.”

James blinked, racked his brain a moment, and slowly began to beam.

–––

James’ parents owned two nice cars, and they used those nice cars to putter about the paved roads of the city day in and day out, to work, to errands, to garden parties and home again. Mr and Mrs Griffin never left those paved roads for fear of damaging the paint or wearing out the engine or popping a tire on a freakishly sharp desert rock. They rarely even left the city limits in those cars.

Clinging to Eli’s back as they raced over the burnished brown crags of the evening desert, James thought they could keep their paved roads and fancy cars. It left more of this for him.

The fields at the edge of town were wide and flat, more shrubland than grass but just confused enough about it to not be desert yet. It was only after another few miles that the true scorched redness of the wastes began, where the lights of the city receded, swallowed by the parched nighttime sky. Eli parked the hoverbike under a crag and dismounted, then helped James (who hadn’t yet reached his growth spurt) jump down.

“Have you been studying?”

“All I’ve been doing is studying,” James complained. Eli quirked an eyebrow.

“The stars, Jamie, not whatever they teach in summer cram these days.”

“Oh.” James straightened up. “Yeah, I studied those.”

“Think you’ll win this time?”

“Definitely.” 

Eli smirked. They both knew James would lose, but it was fun to see how long far he could get. He lasted longer every time they practiced.

“Alright,” said Eli, unhooking his backpack from the bike. He stepped away from the crag and gestured for James to follow, and they spread a blanket out in the open and sat to look up at the sky.

James, being ten, knew he was young and small without truly feeling like it. In the manner of all young, small people, he felt exactly as big as he would ever be. But the sky–the sky brought him just a little closer to understanding. Under the sky, under the stars, confronted suddenly with a scale for his thin sliver of the universe, was the closest he ever felt to real. 

He itched to go, ached to soar out and touch as many stars as he could before he lost the chance to widen his pinhole view into the galaxy. There was only so much of everything he could ever possibly see; time, as his father always said, was the one truly scarce resource. James didn’t want to waste it, and being here beneath the stars, staring up into everything he inexplicably wanted, always made him impatient.

Eli placed a projector disk between them and activated it. A dim blue grid unfolded overhead like a wide umbrella, just within arm’s reach. He pointed into the sky, and in the hologram a particular star turned orange. James rolled his eyes.

“Polaris, Alpha Ursae Minoris. Eli, that one’s easy.”

Eli laughed. “Okay, hotshot. Try this one.” He pointed again and a new light changed color. 

“Venus. Come on, Eli!”

“Alright, alright! Here.”

“Alpha Pegasi, also called Markab.”

“Here.”

“Pi-3 Orionis, also called Tabit.”

They ran through most of the stars in major constellations. James had to stretch his memory for some of them, but they eventually came to him, as they should. He didn’t spend hours at a time poring over the book of charts Eli had given him to lose at this game.

“Great job,” said Eli when they finished major constellations. James couldn’t see his face, but he knew he was grinning. “Want a challenge?”

James nodded once. “Sure.”

“Here.” Eli pointed, and a distant star changed color. It was barely visible compared to the stars they'd just been examining, and it wasn't part of any common constellation. James thought he remembered seeing its relative position on his maps, but he hadn't memorized its name. 

“...I don’t know that one.”

“Tau-5 Eri. It’s actually two white dwarfs orbiting each other.”

“Cool,” said James, though he sounded disappointed. 

“Aw, don’t be like that.” Eli bumped him in the arm. “You did great! Jamie, most kids your age don’t know one constellation from another. You’ve got mental charts like you’ve spent a year and a half at the Garrison.”

“Really?” asked James, brightening.

“Really,” confirmed Eli. They lapsed into silence and Eli turned off the hologram, leaving only the bright, speckled sky overhead. 

“Jamie, about today.”

James’ breath caught. He said nothing.

“Jamie.”

“Nothing happened.”

“Jamie,” Eli said again.

James sat up, bristling. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, too bad, we’re talking about it.” Eli sat up as well. His overlong hair flopped into his eyes as he did. James and Eli didn’t look much alike in their faces, but they both had their father’s hair. “Mom overreacted.”

“No, she didn’t,” said James reflexively.

“Yes, she did, and you know it.” Eli moved closer. “Come on. You don’t really think a B on a cram course intended for kids two years older than you is really a grounding-worthy offense, do you?”

James looked away.

“No, you don’t. I know you don’t, you’re smarter than that. I bet before I showed up you were about ready to revolt.” 

James stayed silent, and Eli eventually sighed. 

“Look, kiddo. I know how you think. You’re just like me.”

“Am not.”

Eli poked him in the side. “Yeah, you are. You’re just a little more of a rule-follower, and that’s okay. A lot of rules are there for a reason. God knows breaking them has gotten me in enough tight spots. But you have learn to see which rules are there for your safety and wellbeing and which are there because some people just kind of suck.”

James scowled. “Mom doesn’t suck.”

“Right,” said Eli. James didn’t know what to make of his expression. “Of course not. But my point still stands.” James just glared. “Think about it, okay?”

“Fine,” James grumbled. “Let’s go home now.”

They packed up their things, reloaded the hoverbike, and headed back across the desert. For all the trip had ended sour, James still felt a twist of loss and dread as the city lights faded back into view. He hugged Eli a little tighter, newly conscious that his brother would be gone again in two days, and he opened his mouth to shout something when the sound stuck in his throat.

“Is that smoke?” he cried instead.

There was a house on fire in the outer suburbs, coughing out a viscous column of black smoke, darker than the sky overhead. Eli adjusted their direction and pushed the bike faster than James had ever ridden before. He held on for dear life, eyes fixed on the billowing ash.

The fire crew was already on the scene when they arrived. James started to dismount the bike, but Eli yanked him back. 

“No, Jamie.”

“We have to help, there could–”

“We’d just be in the way. The fire department is trained for this, we have to let them do their jobs. There's nothing we can do.”

Nothing. There was nothing they could do but watch from a safe distance as someone’s life was reduced to cinder and ash, a foundation of someone’s identity torn out wholesale. Nothing to do but watch as someone lost it all.

“I’m sorry,” said Eli. “I shouldn’t have even brought us close. I wasn’t thinking.” 

Eli turned the bike to take them home, but James craned his neck to look back as the house retreated into the distance and the firelight faded into the nighttime glow of the city. He only turned forward when the smoke vanished from sight. He didn’t answer Eli’s inquiries whether he was alright. Even later, when his parents asked, he would say little about the event. But that image– the burning house and the ash column blocking out the stars–would stay with him. 

That night, and the night after, and the night after, his dreams would be lit by fire.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Enter Keith.
> 
> My [tumblr,](chaifighter.tumblr.com) where I sometimes post snippets in advance. Thank you for reading!


	2. Enter Keith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The type?” Keith said through gritted teeth. “What exactly is the type?” He gave James a once-over. “Button-up, khakis, stupid haircut, insufferable personality?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, by the end of this fic my discard document will be longer than the thing itself.
> 
> Dan, I stole your boyfriend's name for my personal gain. I'd say I'm sorry, but really I'm not.

Though neither would later remember it, James and Keith met in kindergarten. 

Considering their later conflict, it was a surprisingly peaceful interaction. They and two other children shared a big blue table, two pairs of scissors, and two tin cans full of pencils and markers, and outside Keith’s tendency to disregard instructions and James’ distress whenever he did, they actually got along splendidly. James thought Keith’s cat doodles were really cool; Keith admired how quickly James could read. They both wanted to be firefighters when they grew up, and James thought it was amazing that Keith’s father really was one. It was a happy two months. 

Then the seating chart changed and James transferred elementaries for first grade, and that was the end of that.

––– 

Their second first meeting was less auspicious.

To say that James and Keith’s first technical middle school meeting was meaningful would be a lie. It was the first day of fourth-period English, and the teacher separated them out into groups for an icebreaker game. Their group learned each other’s names, suffered through the innocuous questionnaire, and parted ways unchanged. Their  _ real _ first meeting, though–that was something else entirely. 

Sixth period on the first day of school, James walked into his math class and immediately walked back out. He checked the number on the door against his schedule and found that no, he was in the right place. He re-entered the room and stared incredulously at the boy in the far back corner staring out the window. 

“Keith, right?”

The boy flinched, startled. “Yeah,” he said warily. “Who are you?”

James couldn’t help but be a little offended that he’d been forgotten in less than two hours, but he gave his name again and got a nod in return. “ _ You’re _ in math with the seventh graders too?”

Keith’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah. What of it?”

“I–Nothing.” James tried too late to stop the words coming out of his mouth. “You just didn’t seem like the type.”

And he hadn’t. In English Keith hardly said a word, didn’t pay attention at all as the teacher went over the syllabus, and very conspicuously doodled on the surface of the desk like they’d been told since kindergarten not to do. James had figured he was one of those who just didn’t care about school, incomprehensible as such disinterest seemed. He hadn’t imagined for a moment that Keith might be in regular advanced math, much less in the same accelerated class as himself.

The rest of the class was filtering in, and the ambient noise around them began to gain in volume. 

“The type?” Keith said through gritted teeth. “What exactly is  _ the type _ ?” He gave James a once-over. “Button-up, khakis, stupid haircut, insufferable personality?”

“I–I–” James spluttered, too indignant to formulate a proper response. “I don’t–” 

“Don’t hurt yourself,” said Keith. And then he turned again to stare out the window, as though James was no longer worth his time.

James clenched his fists and drew himself up. “You–”

The bell rang. James was startled out of his his fury, and when he looked around the rest of the class was already seated as assigned. He was the only one still standing. He hadn’t even checked the seating chart.

The teacher, at the front of the room, glanced down at the chart and found the name on the empty seat. “James,” she said, “please sit down. I’ll let it go for the first day, but I expect students in their seats by the time the bell rings. Alright?”

It took several seconds for James to make his voice work. “Yes ma’am.” He took the desk she indicated and stared at the tabletop, cheeks burning furiously. 

“That goes for all of you,” the teacher continued, “in your seats at the bell.” The class chorused an agreement, and she began handing out the syllabus. And for the first time that day, James found himself unable to pay attention to what a teacher was saying, distracted by the heat of embarrassment and ire simmering in his gut, and by the boy by the window, still staring out into the clouds.

_ Wow _ , he thought.  _ Who does that guy think he is? _

––– 

“I mean, just who does he think he is? Some genius I should know by sight?”

Alex and Owais shared a long-suffering look before turning back to their friend. 

“Yeah,” said Owais with a flatness bordering on sarcasm. “What a douchebag.”

“He sounds pretty stupid,” Alex said around a mouthful of french toast stick. “You should show him.”

Owais rolled his eyes. “Show him what? They’re in the same class, Keith must be smart.”

Alex pointed at him with a half-eaten french toast stick. “Dark alleys can be useful sometimes.”

“Alex, you just dripped syrup on my sandwich.”

“Good. Ham’s fucking nasty.”

“Don't be obnoxious. Do you  _ want _ James to start the swear jar up again?”

“Guys,” James interrupted, “back to the problem.”

“What’s the problem?” Owais frowned at him. “You were accidentally a jerk to him, he was purposefully a jerk back, you suffered a very minor embarrassment, and here we are. It’s a whole day later, Jammy, I think you should just let it go.”

James groaned and thunked his head down on the lunch table, glaring sideways up at Owais. “I told you to let that nickname die.”

“Never,” said Owais, crunching contentedly on his (now lightly sweetened) sandwich. “I’ll call you Jammy at your wedding. I’ll put it on your gravestone. You will never be free.”

“There!” crowed Alex. “You like to seem like the voice of reason, but you’re just as obnoxious as me!” 

“Am I the one who keeps stalking my innocent new neighbors?”

“They have a wood chipper! Who uses a wood chipper for anything but body disposal?”

James let the conversation devolve from there, leaving his head on the table and folding his arms. He felt bad about the day before, but his guilt was overridden by his wounded pride. He… hadn’t been at his best, sure. But Keith had been way, way worse. And Keith had gotten him in trouble, publicly. James couldn’t shake the feeling, however groundless, that it had been a purposeful attempt to sabotage his standing with the teacher on the first day.

“What an asshole,” he muttered. It took several seconds for him to realize his friends had gone silent.

“My god,” stage-whispered Alex. “Did James just do a swear?” 

James sat bolt upright. “I didn’t–”

“He most certainly did,” said Owais, wide-eyed. 

“Guys, I–”

“Alex.” Owais reached across the table and clasped Alex by the shoulders. “Do you know what this means?”

Alex reached up to grab Owais’ shoulders in return. “Ding-dong, the witch is dead.” Then he turned, looked James dead in the wide, horrified eye, and said, “Thank. Fucking. Asstard Jesus. We can shitting swear.”

James blinked twice, slowly, expression inscrutable. Then he lowered his face back down to the table and heaved a deep, soul-weary sigh. Owais patted him on the head as Alex began to test drive every curse he’d ever heard, and seemingly a number he hadn’t. 

“I hate you both.”

“Love you too, Jammy.”

–––

Usually between Eli’s visits home, James was supposed to study his star charts and be ready for the next midnight desert sky quiz. This time, though, Eli had left behind new reading material, and a lot of it. 

Crosslegged on his bed, James frowned at the hologram of a T-38-Beta Class Hauler ship, rotating it this way and that in a vain attempt to find a specific portside vent. It felt like the time when he had to help his dad assemble a new couch and the instructions were only in pictures. But it was apparently a very important vent, and he needed to learn not only exactly where it was on this particular model, but also how to identify potentially varied versions of it on other models or different ships entirely. 

Eli had promised that if James mastered all the content he’d given him this time, that next time he would give him schematics for fighters and deep space probes. So, every evening after his schoolwork was finished, James spent hours poring over freighter blueprints, doing his best to commit the seemingly arbitrary names of parts to memory. It was slow going, but he knew it would be worth it once he got into the Garrison. 

The Garrison was a world of its own, miles above any public school and rivaling most colleges; to be the top of the class there would take all the pre-study he could get. James was going to space if it killed him, and since they only sent the cream of the crop off planet, he would just have to be the best. 

There was no question of if. The only question was how and when. 

At 9:30 exactly, James’ mother knocked on his door without opening it. “Bedtime, James. You brushed your teeth already?”

“Yeah.” 

“Good. Night, sweetheart,” she said, voice already moving down the hall.

“Night, Mom,” said James. He put the hologram chip away, turned out his light, and crawled under the covers, schematics still swimming in front of his eyes. He repeated the names of components to himself until his memory began to fail him, and once that well was exhausted, his thoughts turned unwittingly to Keith.

He’d intended to approach Keith and apologize today. Really, he had. But something had stopped him. Maybe it was the sadness in his eyes as he looked out the window, maybe it was how he obviously wasn’t aware of any of his surroundings–whatever it was, James hadn’t had the heart to break into his mood with a potentially unwanted (and unwarranted, _James was not at fault here_ ) apology. So he hadn’t. 

He  _ had  _ kind of wanted to pinch Keith’s ear, though, just to get a reaction. That was a weird impulse he would definitely ignore.

Maybe it was best if he didn’t talk to Keith at all, he decided. At this point, apologizing would just dredge up the unpleasantness of the day before, and neither of them needed that. Best to let it be and just ignore each other for the rest of the year. How they could ignore each other as the only two sixth graders in a seventh grade class was uncertain, but he figured that with enough willpower they could do it. 

There. It was decided. He’d have nothing to do with Keith, and Keith would certainly be happy to have nothing to do with him. James nodded to himself and rolled over, pulling the covers higher and soon drifting slowly into sleep. Though the fire of two months ago yet again visited his dreams, he would not recall it in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Operation Ignore Keith fails miserably. 
> 
>  
> 
> ~~James can't identify pigtail-pulling when he's the one doing it.~~


	3. Ninety Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Operation: Ignore Keith lasted roughly two weeks before imploding spectacularly.

Operation: Ignore Keith lasted roughly two weeks before imploding spectacularly.

At first, things seemed to be fine. Keith kept staring blankly out windows (James tried looking out with him a few times just to see what was so interesting, but he got bored quickly and needed to pay attention to the lesson, so it never lasted long), James kept diligently doing his work, and they paid no overt attention to each other–outside of English, anyway.

In English, because of the seating chart, all of Keith’s homework passed through James’ hands on its way up to the teacher. Or it was supposed to. When James counted to make sure he’d collected everything from the row, he almost invariably came up one paper short. And the few times he had the full set, he found Keith’s papers were covered in nonsensical doodles of stars and cats.

(James actually thought the cats were pretty cute, but he reminded himself that they were evidence of distraction and tried to like them less. And to not look at Keith’s papers, because peeking at others’ work was wrong.)

Keith seemed to have a similar problem in math. James sat one row over and one seat back from him in that class, and Keith never turned anything in there either. He didn’t look out the window in math, though, instead bending his head over a notebook, the contents of which could be a legitimate set of notes or a sketchbook depending on the day.

Though he knew it was none of his business, James felt a consuming urge to confront Keith make him do his schoolwork. It wasn’t his problem, but it was also _absolutely his problem_ , in the way that Eli vacuuming the living room in a weird, gappy star pattern instead of more efficient right angles was his problem. James just wanted it to be done _right_ , which meant going in, getting involved, and making sure that the incorrect party knew how to do things properly. And at eleven years old, not yet fully aware how little others would appreciate the correction, he felt perfectly within his rights to make the attempt at fixing it.

Two weeks into the school year, the introductory unit wrapped up in math and they took their first test. James had no worries about it–summer cram classes hadn't been for nothing, and he’d seen all the material before–but he wondered how Keith would fare. Not well, he imagined, and it would be a lie to say he wasn’t a little smug about it. Homework was essential to learning, and Keith never did any of the homework.

Sure enough, the tests were handed back the next day and Keith took one look at his before turning it over with a disgusted snort. James looked down at his own test–only half a point off for a missed sign, an overall score of ninety eight percent–and resisted the urge to smirk. Served him right.

When the final bell rang, James deliberately stalled in packing his bag until most of the class had filed out and the teacher had wandered off to wherever teachers go at the end of the day. Keith was still in his seat glaring down at his overturned test.

“That bad?”

Keith’s head snapped up. “Oh,” he said. “You again.”

“You know,” said James, magnanimously ignoring his tone “if you did the homework, you might actually learn the material.”

Keith snorted and turned to face James fully. “I don’t have any problem with the material.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. Really.” Keith’s eyes narrowed. “You think I would?”

James rolled his eyes. “What did you get on the test?” he asked.

“Ninety four,” Keith snapped.

“Yeah, right.”

Keith grabbed his test off his desk, stood, and shoved it into James’ face. James took it and smoothed out the creases Keith’s grip had left on the paper. Then he saw the score.

“Ninety. Four,” repeated Keith into the shocked silence. He shoved the rest of his belongings into his backpack, slung it over his back without zipping it, and gave James one last venomous glare before stalking out the door.

James stared down at the paper in his hands, at the bright red 94 at the top, undercut with a note from the teacher asking Keith to stay after class.

 _His homework_ , he realized dazedly. _She wanted to ask about his homework, and he knew it. He wasn’t upset because of a bad test. He was upset because he was in trouble._

“James? Was there something you needed?””

He startled out of his reverie. The teacher, back from wherever she’d gone, was standing in the doorway of the classroom. He hurriedly shuffled the paper to sit within his own stack of notebooks and picked up his backpack.

“Nothing,” he said. “Just got lost in my head.”

“Have you seen Keith?”

“He left,” said James, already halfway out the door. If he ran, he might still make the bus. “Have a nice night, Ms. Andrews!”

“You too!” she replied, waving as he bolted down the hall.

–––

He missed the bus.

–––

James didn’t tell Alex and Owais about the failure of Operation: Ignore Keith. He told himself he withheld the story because it wasn’t interesting enough to tell, but really he just knew Owais would say he should apologize, and he didn’t want to hear it. The whole incident was embarrassing enough without his friends telling him he’d been wrong.

So he didn’t say anything, and within a few days turning the encounter over in his head, he had convinced himself _he_ was the one who had been mistreated. Keith was clearly the aggressive party, waving his paper in James’ face when James had just been trying to help. And wasn’t it terrible that he hadn’t even stayed behind to face the consequences of never doing his work? Keith was smug, a showoff, and–worst of all–disobedient. A _rule-breaker_. And James Griffin absolutely did not stand for rule-breakers.

So, with an air of wounded dignity, James resumed Operation: Ignore Keith with one small adjustment: sometimes, when there was enough community ill will that he would get away with it, he was now allowed to poke.

When Keith got in fights, James would give loud, scathing commentary in the aftermath. When Keith did something out of line in class, James would carry the story back to his friends, exaggerate it terribly, and let Alex’s naturally large mouth do the rest. And every good score Keith got–every rare assignment he actually turned in–James would resign to a fluke, “an assignment so easy even Keith managed it.”  

On some level, he knew it was wrong of him. Owais’ disapproving looks and pensive silences said as much. But he just didn’t care. There was a certain vindictive pleasure in leading a crowd against a single, hated target. And it was a crowd; the longer James needled, the stronger the general consensus became that Keith was somehow different, an outsider. Keith’s own venomous reactions to his classmates’ disdain only alienated him further, seemingly proving James’ point that he was a combative loose cannon. By the end of the year, all parties seemed resigned. Keith Kogane was not one of them, and never would be.

And so, sixth grade came and went.

–––

Two weeks after school let out for the summer, Eli finally decided that a year of study had been enough; James’ knowledge of cargo ships was thorough enough to pass muster. He sent him a fresh set of schematics for fighter jets with the expectation that he could dissect and reconstruct at least one model by the time Eli next came home in six months. In the meantime, James hunkered down with his new mountain of data and readied himself for late nights and a full slate of summer cram courses. His mother had registered him for nearly twice the number of classes he’d taken last year, and she’d been on the warpath about his grades for the last few months. He had no idea why–it wasn’t like he’d gotten a final grade below an A in his life–but he was hardly about to let himself slip now.

–––

One night in early July, James opened a video call to Eli at midnight. It would be two in the morning where Eli was, so either the call would wake him or he wouldn’t even pick up, but James was nearly in tears and he didn’t know who else to ask.

Eli accepted the call, took one look at James’ face, and immediately jolted wide awake.

“Jamie? What’s wrong?”

Through near-sobs, James explained that he couldn’t figure out one of the problems on his math homework, that he’d been staring at it for an hour, that it was due tomorrow and there was a test and he didn’t know how to–

“Okay, okay, calm down. Jamie. Jamie, look at me.” Eli waited until James made eye contact with the holo. “Alright. Deep breath in, and out. Good. In, and out. We’ll figure it out, alright?”

James pressed his hands into his eyes and wiped the tears away. “Okay.”

“Good. Now, here’s what you do.”

They worked through the problem, James went to bed, and everything was fine. He thought that would be the end of it.

It wasn’t.

That following evening, James’ mother picked up a call and vanished into her office, where she proceeded to scream down the line for over an hour. James and his father, positioned strategically together at the edge of the living room to eavesdrop, quickly realized by context that it was Eli on the other end. At that point James’ father pulled him away to the kitchen, where they distracted themselves by making a casserole for the Radissons’ neighborhood lunch party the next day. Though James tried periodically to hear more of what his mother was yelling about, his father always made some conspicuous noise with the pots and drowned out her already distant voice.

“Rule number one of life with your mother,” he prompted over the sizzle of browning meat.

“Find out who she’s angry with, and if it’s not you, say nothing and leave it be,” recited James, perched on a stool at the island bar. He huffed and flopped his chin on his folded arms. “I could leave it be,” he muttered.

“Right,” said his father.

“I could!”

“Like you left the Wilson cupcake incident alone?” James colored red and hid his face. “Thought so.” His father took the meat off the stove and reached for a lid to drain the grease. “Learning when to let things go is one of the first steps to finding peace, James. You’ll get better at it as you get older.”

“I don’t want peace,” James complained. “I want to know why she’s mad at Eli.”

“Your mother is always mad at Eli,” said his father. “The question is just why it’s so loud today. Pass me the small glass bowl?”

James slid down from his seat to retrieve the bowl. “Why _is_ she always mad at Eli?”

His father took the bowl and looked down at him consideringly. “How old are you now, eight?”

“I’m almost twelve, Dad.”

“Definitely eight.” He turned back to the stove. “Ask Eli about it. He can tell you better than I can. I don’t know the full story, I just follow your mother’s lead.”

“I can’t ask Eli. He’s still getting yelled at.”

“Then ask tomorrow. Patience is the better part of valor.”

“Don’t you mean discretion?”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it? Anyway, give him the night to recover after your mom is through with him and I’m sure he’ll explain everything tomorrow. Now choose something easy to make for dinner that doesn’t use the oven. The casserole will be in there, so we can’t use it.”

James’ mother took another forty five minutes to finish her shouting session, and by then the casserole was in the fridge and the table was set to eat. They had a polite, tense dinner at which none of them mentioned her hour-long apoplectic rage fit, and then all three parties went their separate ways for the night.

James changed into his pajamas, brushed his teeth, and crammed in a little fighter jet study before going to bed with anticipation and dread warring in his stomach. On one hand, tomorrow was the start of the weekend, and once he called Eli he would finally know why his mother had pretended her oldest son didn’t exist the moment he moved away. On the other hand, it also meant a lunch party with the Rasmussens.

He let that idea sink in.

Tomorrow was going to _suck_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm Minnesotan and every time I called it casserole instead of hotdish my lifespan decreased by 5 years
> 
> Next time: an interlude from Eleanor Griffin


	4. An Interlude from Eleanor Griffin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the distance there was a dust trail rising from the earth, tracing a line across the horizon. Someone on a hoverbike or a speeder, probably. As James watched, the little dot grew closer until it resolved into definitely a hoverbike, and then close enough that he recognized the skinny frame, the red jacket, and that goddamned haircut.
> 
> He blinked, then refocused incredulously. What were the chances?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dan, I have now stolen your name as well. Still not sorry.
> 
> An update in less than 24 hours? In _my_ fanfic?? It's more likely than you think. I'm trying to crank out as much of this as possible before move-in day on the 28th, so expect consistent chapters until then, and maybe a week or so of silence after.

The worst part about Rasmussen parties, thought Eleanor Griffin as she laughed her loveliest laugh and sipped her fruity cocktail, was Yasmine Rasmussen herself. Yasmine was tall, slender, and stunningly beautiful even in her later life, with flawless, accomplished children, a gorgeous house at the edge of the desert and a husband who hung off her every word. Eleanor loathed her and everything she stood for, but she tittered delightedly at her inane jokes anyway, silently longing to chug her drink and ask for another.

“And you, Ellie!” gushed Yasmine. The attention of the pack instantly swiveled to Eleanor, and it took all her effort not to startle. “We haven’t heard from you yet! How is your son doing?”

“He’s growing up fast,” said Eleanor with a gracious smile. Once she recovered from her surprise, she was in her element. At last, the opening she’d been looking for all afternoon. “He’s nearly twelve, and his teachers all tell me he’s at the very top of his class. We have him in summer cram school now, and he’s doing schoolwork they usually assign the fifteen-year-olds!”

“Fifteen?” gasped Marie Hutchinson from Green Mesa. Marie’s only son Hunter was a disappointment in general, but especially in terms of schoolwork. “Really?”

“Yes,” confirmed Eleanor, who couldn’t hide a bit of her smugness. “Really.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” cooed Yasmine. “And your other–”

“James is also on something of a creative streak recently,” Eleanor continued. “He’s been doing these diagrams–a sort of clockwork aesthetic to them–and they’re so–”

“Your other son, Ellie!” Yasmine interrupted. “How is Elijah?”

Eleanor faltered, but recovered quickly. “Eli is… fine. He’s doing well out on the east coast.”

“Still a Garrison pilot?”

“Yes,” said Eleanor. “Yes, he is.”

When she didn’t elaborate, Yasmine made an impatient noise. “And? He must have some interesting stories, being a big, important fighter flyboy. What’s the fastest he’s flown? The farthest?”

Yasmine, of course, knew perfectly well that Eli wasn’t a pilot anymore. With her contacts in the Garrison, Eleanor had known it was only a matter of time before news of Eli’s demotion reached her, and she’d attended every Rasmussen party since with a sense of impending doom. Yasmine wouldn’t ask so intently about Eli if she hadn’t finally found out. And, with her attention so focused on Eleanor, the rest of the neighborhood ladies were beginning to catch on that there was something more at play here as well. 

“Oh,” Eleanor deferred, “I’m sure you flew much faster and much farther in your heyday, Yasmine. You were one of the best pilots in your generation after all.”

“You’re too kind, Ellie. But the fighters of my day were absolutely clunky compared to the tech they have the kids in now.”

“Still,” said Eleanor, “Eli has only been in proper aircraft for two years. He could hardly have reached your level in so short a time. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think my husband is hoarding a few too many of Irma’s deviled eggs. I’ll go try to rein him in.”

“Of course, dear,” said Yasmine benevolently. “We’ll be right here when you come back.”

Eleanor made her escape, then really did go to find her husband, who was not hovering over the deviled eggs but instead snooping from a distance as three neighborhood children held a low-voiced conversation in the Rasmussen kitchen. 

“Daniel–”

“Shh!” He peeked around a pillar to get a glimpse of the kids, then ducked back out of sight. “I’m trying to listen. They’re talking about James.”

“We have to leave,” said Eleanor impatiently. “Yasmine found out about–”

“That’s right, Harry,” Daniel crowed in a stage whisper. “You tell her!”

“Daniel!” she said, but he was still eavesdropping. As she watched, his face went slack in response to something he heard.

“Oh,” he said. “ _ Shit _ .”

“What?”

“Our son has done something very stupid.”

“What?” Eleanor said again as Daniel swung out from behind the pillar to crash the conversation. “What did he do?”

–––

Theoretically, James knew that walking out into the desert alone in the middle of the day was a stupid idea. He may have brought a couple water bottles with him, and he had sunscreened that morning for swimming in the Rasmussens’ massive backyard pool, but that didn’t change the fact that he didn’t have a comm unit or tracker chip on him. If he did keel over, they wouldn't find him until his corpse was well crisped.

He trudged straight out into the flat, baked landscape, accompanied the entire time by a hysterical background hum of  _ what are you doing this is stupid you’ll be grounded until you’re thirty go back go back go back.  _ And he almost did go back, but… he just couldn’t be at the Rasmussens’ right now. Not after what Claire Pillado said about Eli. And the desert, even during the day, was quiet. Peaceful. A place to think.

He’d brought two water bottles. He’d just turn back as soon as the first ran out. No one would even realize he’d gone.

_ Oh god, his mother was going to kill him. _

Alright, he came here to think. So think. With great effort, James wrestled his buzzing thoughts into coherent order. According to Claire– 

_ He doesn’t even fly, James. It’s pathetic. He messed up a simple assignment beyond recognition, and they shipped him out east to serve out his disgrace as an  _ outreach officer.  _ How long do you think it’ll take for him to fuck that one up too? _

–Eli had been demoted out of the fighter pilot class before he even moved east. That would mean that for the last two years he’d been lying to James about his job. That seemed like a really long time to lie.  _ Claire _ could be the one lying. 

_ … pathetic… disgrace…  _

But the Pillados and the Rasmussens were close–Claire’s mother was Yasmine’s sister–and the Rasmussens’ connection to the Garrison was well-documented. If anyone might know, it would be Claire. And a demotion–to community outreach, no less, not even to cargo pilot–would explain their mother’s fury with Eli. 

James felt shaky and sick. Could it be true? It could.  _ Was _ it true?

Was it?

He would have to ask Eli. And that meant he’d have to return to the party.

How could Eli have lied to him? He must have known James wouldn’t care. Of course James didn’t care.

Right?

His first water bottle was only half gone. He stopped walking and crouched in the shadow of a rock formation, where he decided he’d wait until he calmed down before heading back. As he gazed out over the desert plains, he felt himself relax slightly, even if the incessant buzz of  _ worryEliworrydidhelietome? _ didn’t vanish. 

James liked people. He liked having friends; he liked being liked. It was nice to have people to hang out and talk with in his classes. But sometimes he just needed some quiet. 

Of course, ‘quiet’ didn’t usually entail wandering off into the desert at peak heat, but he despised the Rasmussens and the others at their lunch parties. He found the other kids dull or arrogant or some combination of the two, and he was sure they all thought the same of him. (Though after today he had a particular distaste for Claire Pillado.) He didn’t understand why his family continued to attend these gatherings when his mother always complained for hours after they got home about how uppity Yasmine was and how she and her husband flaunted their wealth and so on. He supposed it was just one of those adult things he’d understand when he was older.

God, he was going to be in so much trouble for this. The thought twisted his stomach again, so he pushed it away as a problem for later. 

In the distance there was a dust trail rising from the earth, tracing a line across the horizon. Someone on a hoverbike or a speeder, probably. As James watched, the little dot grew closer until it resolved into definitely a hoverbike, and then close enough that he recognized the skinny frame, the red jacket, and that goddamned haircut.

He blinked, then refocused incredulously. What were the chances?

Keith didn’t see him, and James made no attempt to catch his attention. Instead he just watched as Keith did laps back and forth across the crags, testing new paths over the formations. James didn’t need to be told how difficult those things were to navigate; he’d heard it from Eli every time they came out. Keith took the jumps and turns faster than Eli ever had, and with more breathing room. 

In short, he flew  _ beautifully _ . James, who hadn’t yet been allowed to even try Eli’s hoverbike, tried to contain his jealousy.

He also flew illegally. Hoverbike licenses, while allowed younger than speeder permits, weren’t available until age thirteen. James considered for a moment the relative merits of turning him in, then reluctantly dismissed the idea. It was summer, Keith didn’t even know James was there, and it just seemed dirty to tattle. And besides, Keith would probably be gone by the time James got back. 

There was an odd feeling in James’ chest and throat as he watched. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Keith smile before, much less whoop for joy like he was doing now. He thought the feeling might be the jealousy, but it felt a little different. He ultimately ignored it. Probably just the guilty, looming knowledge of how very, very grounded he was going to be.

Keith zipped around in James’ line of sight for a while longer, then vanished behind a formation and didn’t reappear, his retreat marked only by the dust rising like smoke in his wake. James took that as his cue to head back toward civilization. The Rasmussen house was still visible in the distance, a strange, misshapen lump interrupting the skyline. He sighed, stood, uncapped his second water bottle, and started walking.

–––

Eleanor returned to Yasmine’s conversational circle twenty minutes after she had left it, frazzled and angry and trying desperately to conceal both of these feelings. According to Daniel’s snooping, James had wandered off an hour ago into the desert after Claire Pillado said something objectionable about Eli. Why James felt the need to overreact so dramatically to news about his idiot brother was beyond her, and she would certainly be bringing it up with James later, but the most immediate problem was that her son was off god knows where, probably shriveling and dying in the desert, and she couldn’t go look for him lest Yasmine Fucking Rasmussen cotton on that her second son was anything at all like her first.

“Oh, Ellie!” cried Yasmine when she drew into view. “You’re back, and just in time! Trisha here was just telling us about her big case! It’s very exciting.”

“There’s murder!” piped Rachel Berkowitz. “And sex!”

Eleanor plastered an intrigued expression on her face. “Sounds scandalous.”

“Oh, it is,” said Trisha with relish. Eleanor suppressed an impatient sigh and hid behind her new drink, hoping that Daniel found their errant child soon, if only to save her from Trisha Dahl’s atrocious storytelling. 

And to ground James until he was thirty. That sounded cathartic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: The talk with Eli and the start of seventh grade.
> 
> James: *is going to storm out angrily*  
> James: *stops for water and snacks before going*  
> James, the entire time he's out: _fuck fuck go back gonna get in trouble gonna get grounded oh no_  
>  James, once he gets back: wow I sure showed them


	5. Top of the Ladder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Jamie,” he implored, “listen to me. I know how you’re going to take this. But remember what I said about deciding what rules are right and what rules are wrong?”
> 
> “It doesn’t sound like you’re very good at that.” James swallowed. “What other bad advice have you given me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentors aren't perfect, kids.

Claire Pillado was telling the truth. 

“I’m sorry, Jamie.”

“You lied,” said James numbly. 

“Yes,” said Eli. “I did. And I’m sorry.”

_ “Why?” _

That was the part James couldn’t wrap his head around. What was the point? Why bother with two years of this charade?

“You were only nine when I was sent here. Mom didn’t think you could keep it quiet. I didn’t have the energy to fight her, so I went along with it.”

_ “Mom _ told you to?”

“The Rasmussens,” said Eli. James understood instantly, and hated that that was the only explanation necessary. 

“You should have told me. I could have kept it secret!”

“Could you? Jamie, you can’t lie.”

“Yes, I can,” James argued, even though he knew that he really, really couldn’t.

“No, you can’t, and you know it. So she figured it was just best not to tell you.” Eli passed a tired hand across his face. “It sucks, I know. And nothing I can say will make it better right now.”

“What about your pilot stories? Were any of those true?”

No. No, they weren’t. He could see it on Eli’s face. 

“What did you do? To get demoted.”

Eli breathed in, held it, and released it slowly. “I disobeyed orders. The plan they had in place was going to get someone killed, and I took initiative to try and save them.”

“Did you?”

Eli shook his head. “They survived, but we lost some important data in the process. That’s why my demotion was so steep. But Jamie,” he implored, “listen to me. I know how you’re going to take this. But remember what I said about deciding what rules are right and what rules are wrong?”

“It doesn’t sound like you’re very good at that.” James swallowed. “What other bad advice have you given me?”

“No, listen. I knew perfectly well which rules I should and shouldn’t have followed, and I stand by my decision. Everything happens for a reason. I’m exactly where I need to be right now.” 

“Ha!”

Eli scowled through the holo. “I’m serious. Fighter pilot was never a fit for me. But outreach–here I make a real difference. I’m happier here.  _ This _ is where I’m meant to be, even if it isn’t some fancy spot at the top of the ladder.” 

James wanted to scream. “I thought you wanted to go to space. I thought flying was your dream, like me.”

Eli softened. “I always encouraged your dreams, kiddo, but I never said I shared them. Fighter pilot was always mom’s vision for me, not mine for myself.”

James felt his own hackles go up. “Are you saying it’s Mom’s vision for me too? Are you saying I only want to fly because she wants me to?”

“That’s not–”

_ “I _ want to go to space,” said James.  _ “I _ want to. Not Mom. I thought you were going to help me get there!”

“And I am! I just–”

James was struck by a terrible thought. “Did you give me those schematics illegally?” Eli went silent. That was all the confirmation James needed. “What else have you done? Have you stolen other things? What else have you lied about?”

“Jamie, I am  _ not–” _

James hit the disconnect button. 

In the sudden silence his room felt empty, filled only with the sound of his uneven, panicky breathing. For several seconds, all was still. Then he bent over his knees and started to cry.

–––

James entered seventh grade not on speaking terms with half of his support network. He’d ignored all of Eli’s calls and messages since their last explosive conversation, and he’d kept interactions with his mother to a bare, frosty minimum. Instead he’d retreated toward his father, who was even-keeled but incredibly indulgent of all his mother’s whims, and therefore not much comfort. He still studied the fighter schematics, even though he did so with some guilt now that he knew where they came from; his determination to be a fighter pilot had, after coming under perceived fire, been galvanized into an almost frightening single-mindedness.

Upon starting the school year, however, things quickly softened, as they are wont to do in the world of children. Back among his friends and newly distracted by the daily ins and outs of middle school, the summer began to feel like an unpleasant memory, unconnected to the present day. James relaxed back into the holding patterns of the previous year with only a slightly sharper edge to his expectations for himself and dramatically fewer stories about his brother to show for it.

He also fell back into rhythm with Alex and Owais comfortingly quickly.

“How you feeling about the vocab quiz?”

“It was okay,” said James. Alex brandished a pretzel stick at him.

“I was asking Owais, Mr. Ninety-Six-Isn’t-Good-Enough.”

“It was a ninety three!”

“My quiz went fine,” said Owais, glaring over the edge of his textbook. “Now, I need to finish this chapter by next hour, so both of you please  _ be quiet.”  _

Alex rolled his eyes and mouthed Owais’ words back at him silently, mouth full of mashed pretzel. 

“Don’t speak with your mouth full,” Owais reprimanded without looking up. Alex gaped.

“How did you see that? You couldn’t have seen that!”

“No, you’re just predictable. Now  _ shut up.” _

Reverting to the patterns of the previous year also meant a return to needling Keith. Due presumably to his constantly incomplete homework, Keith had been bumped down to the advanced math class for their age group, leaving James as the sole seventh grader in the eighth grade class. This suited him perfectly, and it gave him something new to hold over his old adversary. 

Something was different about Keith this year, though. James couldn’t put his finger on it, and no one else seemed to notice it, but he seemed quieter. He was just as disrespectful and irritating and generally hateable as always, and he fought and snapped just as much as before, but something about him was subdued. His anger needed to spark before it would flame. It was a small difference, and it didn’t really matter–James was still at the top of the social ladder while Keith still languished below–but it bothered James anyway.

Seventh grade passed, a little strange, a little lonely at home, but happy enough overall. Sometime in mid-January, James realized he had met the requirement Eli had set for him to know a fighter model inside and out. The realization filled him with an odd mix of pride and melancholy. He closed the holo for the night and tried not to think about it anymore. 

The summer that followed was similarly based in old patterns, as James filled his days with cram studies and flight schematics in anticipation of his Garrison application in November. And when eighth grade began, it seemed that all would once again follow the old routines, until the day in mid-September when Takashi Shirogane swooped in and changed the game. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Enter Shiro
> 
> ~~no one else noticed any difference in keith bc no one pays as close attention to him as you do James~~


End file.
